love is the bone and sinew of my curse
by explodeywodey
Summary: (EDITED to deal with a formatting error) River kisses her like she means it, holds her close and wraps her arms around her. Up close, her eyes are a bright meadow green and her lipstick smears around her lips. Amy knows that the deep red is painted across her face and neck as well, branding her River's. (non-apologetically incestuous fic; be warned)


"Don't do that," River's voice hisses out of the dark, shocked and a little bit acidic. A hand cradles her face, thumb brushing suspiciously over her lower lip – it's meant as a gesture of comfort, but Amy isn't interested in that at this point. She sucks the digit into her mouth and wraps her tongue around it, smirking at River's shocked (and hopefully, a little turned on) gasp. She hopes the gesture is sensual, but a niggling feeling in the back of her mind tells her she's being an idiot.

"Why not?" The words come out muffled and jumbled from around River's thumb, more of a _'hy dot_' than anything resembling normal human isn't some sort of fucked-up rebound, Amy tells herself. Not at all. The Doctor may not be explicitly interested but that's not why she's interested in River; at least, not directly.

She never thought she'd have a specific type in women. In men, she'd always liked a more emotional boy (she'd agreed to a date with Jeff once, but his stolid attempts to assert his masculinity over dinner had annoyed her so much that she'd broken whatever they had off right there and then): she liked Rory because he cared about people, and she'd been interested in the Doctor because... well. Well. She wasn't sure, to be honest with herself. Something about the way he carried himself and acted and was infinitely powerful yet so lost and in need had drawn her in. There hadn't been another option than going along with him, and it had just seemed logical. He'd taken her away on the night before her wedding, for god's sake. If that wasn't a sign from the universe, then she wasn't sure what was. But he'd been completely uninterested.

And then there was River. She wasn't like anything Amy had ever seen. She had the Doctor's special brand of otherworldly panache, but multiplied by infinity and exponentially increased by, if nothing else, the fact that she just popped off into space and expected something to show up. Amy had to admire that, she really did.

"There will be a time that you're going to regret this, Amy," River says, carefully extracting her thumb from Amy's mouth. They're still almost too close, and Amy can feel River's breath on her neck. She fancies that it's sped up since that kiss, but she's not sure.

"How can you know that? What am I doing, meddling with some kind of time-space stuff? Messing up your marriage?" She wants to open her eyes to give River a good glare. It's not like she expects to get what she wants every time and behaves petulantly when the universe doesn't line up; rather, the fact that River is assuming that it's going to be on her end that's pissing her off. "If you don't want to, then say so – don't give me this rubbish."

"That's definitely a spoiler," River replies shortly, and Amy grins despite herself. She hates and loves that word; she wants to push River against the tree and snog her secrets out of her. "But it's not that I don't want it – on the contrary, I don't have any qualms about this. But you're not going to feel the same about this as time passes; I've seen you at a time where you're not going to want this. I've seen you angry about doing anything like this. I'm giving you a chance to change your future."

"I don't care," Amy says, reaching out to touch River's face – all right, blindly poke around for River's face. Her searching fingers gingerly connect with skin, and travel down to stroke gently across River's jawline. "I really, really don't care."

"You will." River sighs.

* * *

A bit after the Doctor's death – or rather, lack thereof – River begins to visit more frequently. Amy gets used to it and relishes the time spent with her daughter, even though they don't approach it that way. They eat dinner out in the garden and reminisce like old, long-lost friends, snickering over bow ties and occasionally getting a bit too drunk because they can't find anything else to say or do that doesn't feel taboo. It feels like there is something huge between them, a void they both know and understand and have the ability to cross but are too scared to.

"When was the last time you saw me?" Amy asks after River materializes in the middle of the backyard, fluffing her hair.

"Demon's Run, about six months ago." Amy knows her well enough to be able to tell that the wan, nonchalant smile on her face is forced. "You were so angry."

"All I could think was, 'so this is what she was telling me I'd regret'," Amy admits.

"That's probably a spoiler," River says quietly, but there's a look in her eyes that says she knows at least what Amy's getting at. "And don't tell me you don't regret it."

"I don't. All right, so it's a little weird, isn't it? More like a lot weird, anyway. How can you be my daughter, you don't even look like me!"

"Regeneration, of course," River replies and Amy nods.

"Yeah, but it's still kind of hard to grasp. I mean-it's weird, you're my daughter and you don't have any of my genetic material. You could be Rory's aunt, though."

River offers up a wan smile—an actual smile, not forced like the previous few—and for a moment it's like the sun breaking through clouds. She always looks so sad, although it's not noticeable until she's happy.

It's kind of then that Amy realises it, that she doesn't just want to shag River Song. Maybe it's the smile, or the laugh, or the endearingly awkward way she fiddles with her hands on the table, her left thumbnail digging into the cuticle of her right thumb and the rest of her fingers kind of fall together into a mess of nervous tapping, or maybe it's just them combined and the muted sunshine that still radiates from the woman in front of her is just an added bonus.

"This doesn't change anything though," she says, and it's a horrible lie because it changes everything. She knew that everything would be different when River looked her in the eye at Demon's Run, eyes swimming ever so slightly with tears and a happy-but-sad smile on her face.

_It's me. I'm Melody_. It seems so obvious now, like there should have been some kind of motherly instinct in her heart screaming, _this is mine! this is my flesh and blood, my daughter_! or some kind of warning in the look in River's eyes, familiar and faintly loving.

"You're kidding," River says flatly. "I don't care how strange and topsy-turvy your past is, you are not telling me that incest is of no concern to you."

"I don't know; it just isn't disturbing me. I mean, first of all I didn't know, and secondly, it was just a snog, right?"

"A snog? How early are we for you, now?"

"Er... spoilers?"

"Don't be ridiculous. And don't you play games with me. Not like this; not with this." There is something dark and cold and terrifying in River's eyes, something Amy has seen before in the Doctor, but never like this. Never so utterly full of love. It terrifies Amy for a moment, because she's never seen River like this, not even with the Doctor. "When was the last time we – did anything?"

"The Byzantium," Amy admits quietly, biting her lower lip.

River smiles sadly, the edges of her mouth cutting a bitter curve across her face. "You were so young there, so headstrong. Every time I see you I can't really believe it; believe that _we've_ happened."

"I'm glad it did."

"You can change it, you know. I'm not going to consign you to this if I don't have to."

"Did you want to?" Amy asks, momentarily horrified. Maybe this is why River keeps telling her she'll regret it – it's not the incest, it's something she does—did—_whatever_.

"I—yes," River admits tensely. "But I don't want you to—I—" She sighs with annoyance, rubbing her hand across her forehead in a swift, sharp gesture. "I don't want you making decisions now based on what you've been told the future has in store. I don't want you to enter into what we become just because you're chasing the daughter you lost all those years ago."

The laugh that Amy can't stop from escaping is bitter and hollow and barely sounds like her. "That's what you think this is? What, I'm chasing after my daughter with the expressed intent to shag her because I think it'll do well for mother-daughter _bonding_?"

"What else could it be?" River stares up at her and looks like she's about to cry. "I look old, I _am_ old, I'm your _daughter_ for pity's sake – you have Rory, the Doctor, anyone. And I'm here because I broke out of the maximum security ward of the highest security prison in the galaxy, and I don't know why none of this gives you pause!"

"Maybe because it doesn't matter?"

"I refuse to believe that you honestly for a second haven't considered that, yes, it does matter! You're married, and so am I, and I am your _daughter_!"

"And neither of us don't want this. What's wrong?"

"I—" River falters, staring at her with tears in her eyes and an expression that is half heartbroken, half angry. "You. It's you. I'm all wrong for you, can't you see that? I used to wonder why Rory looked at you with that _expression_ on his face, like he'd lost you already, and now I know. I'm not good for you, I have no stability and let's face it, your life's been turned on its head since the day the Doctor crashed in your backyard. It's not right, not fair; you're meant for better things than your daughter, for pity's sake."

"I love you," Amy whispers. "You know that, right? Really, properly love you." Beneath her clenched hands the paint on the old table is beginning to pucker and peel, but she couldn't care less. Just another stupid little thing that serves as a metaphor for what her life is becoming. "I mean—don't interrupt, please. The moment I saw you, on the screen in the TARDIS, that home-box transmitting you and your wink and that dress and I thought, oh my god, she's amazing. And then you shot through space into the TARDIS and you were his wife, you admitted that—or at least kind of—, told me I was good and I could feel myself blushing because suddenly your approval was the most important thing in the world to me, and I'd never really felt that way before. So I tried to pretend that I wasn't jealous, but it didn't work too well. And then time passed, and I saw you again and again and I was married and then your mother, and then you were married and I knew I'd snogged you but never really cared, and so I just kind of sat around and waited for you."

Her only response is the sound of the wind rustling through foliage, and the faint sound of River's breaths, quiet but quickened. She tries to tell herself that she's done the right thing, but sometimes she wonders.

_River Song is a really good snog, even when she's stunned and Amy can't see. She melts into Amy for a moment, releasing a hushed gasp into her mouth, moves her lips against hers, then gasps again._

_"What are you doing?" She asks, tone stunned. Amy wants to open her eyes with all of the power in her heart; she wants to see River's face, wants to see her so she can embrace her, kiss her again and see how she reacts._

_She's wanted to do this since she laid eyes on her, that age-old recording on the TARDIS's screen. Black and white and fuzzy, she could still make out that wink, that grin, and the flirtatious tone in River's voice. And all right, that dress. But for the most part, she was enamoured at first sight. It felt like a schoolgirl crush, almost, only it doesn't go away. Years later she's going to look back at this moment and know that this was where it began, but in the here and now all she can find the power to think about is that the Doctor is one really, really lucky bastard. And right now he's not even acknowledging it._

_"What does it look like?" She asks, and moves forward again. Even with her eyes squeezed shut and her heart still pumping terror through her veins, she reaches out and finds River's face again, pulling her closer._

_"Don't do that," River hisses, and she cradles Amy's face even as she moves her own out of Amy's hands. Amy thinks about Rory, about the Doctor, about all her old boyfriends and she wonders what made this so different._

"And Rory," River finally says, her voice little more than a whisper. "What about Rory? Your husband?"

"I'm always going back to Rory at the end of the day; he's where I belong, I suppose. Going to Rory feels like home. But I don't think we're the same as we were before the Doctor came back, you know? Everything's different. I went from thinking one man made up all of my love to not being sure of how I feel about anything anymore. I just know I want things. I want you."

The wind slows but never actually stops; it stirs River's hair and toys with her curls, tossing them around her ears in a faint breeze. She looks beautiful now, eyes happy even though they swim with tears, the faintest smile toying with the corners of her mouth. If nothing else she looks content, sitting here with Amy on the peeling patio furniture, legs crossed and a wineglass forgotten and empty on the table in front of her.

"Time changes the nature of relationships. When you live in a constant flux, it's easy to think you are the centre of your own universe. But travelling through time and space, you realise how small you are and how wide the world is, and how great human compassion is, and you learn to love because it's so powerful." Amy nods at this, knowing it's an excuse. Any rationale for what they are will always be an excuse, because there's nothing moral to back them up. They exist as they are, as a victimless crime, and they both know it. "The Doctor teaches you that, to some extent. I'd been trained to hate him, told stories about how horrible he was, but faced with all that compassion, all that _humanity_ from such a being, it was impossible. And I grew up with you and I always knew we'd have something more than just friendship, something more than just mother and daughter, but I never knew what."

"Now you do," Amy says firmly.

"Yes," River responds, and the smile germinates and grows across her face. "Yes, I do."

* * *

River only calls her 'Mummy' or 'Mother' when she's trying to remind her or discourage her, or sometimes both. The rest of the time she calls her Amy, laughs her name and exclaims it, and sometimes calls her Pond.

In return, she is River (not Mels and never Melody, because that makes her remember that she is the little girl Amy once lost, only now she's past 100 and not so little anymore).

_The first time Amy calls her Melody, River looks like she's going to cry. The Doctor is gone and River seems so lost in Amy's backyard, clad in jeans and a thin cotton shirt. She scuffs the soles of her boots against the ground, biting her bottom lip._

_"Can you not?"_

_They stand in silence for a moment, and it takes Amy a few minutes to realize that this is an older River than she's ever met before. The roots of her hair are tinted with grey and the faint smile lines around her eyes and mouth have grown. She doesn't look old necessarily, but she feels worldlier and a little bit tired._

_"Sorry," she mumbles in response. They stare at their feet for a moment before River clears her throat and looks up at her with a grin that is only a touch forced._

_"Aren't you going to invite me in?"_

Sometimes Amy wonders if she could invent new selves for them just for this, make up a new persona just to hide from the world, because guilt has finally permeated. Not for River; she loves her, knows she loves her, and doesn't think that will ever change. But she comes home to Rory and he doesn't know, and she wonders what there is between them if she drapes herself in lies before sliding into bed with him. She never was a liar unless she needed to be, but she doesn't know if there is need now.

Time creates space for new relationships, new loves, but that's not an excuse, just a rationalisation. Travelling with the Doctor broadens your horizons, but it also makes some things more powerful, and Amy thinks the guilt might be one of them. Rory smiles at her and kisses her cheek before he goes to work and she smiles tightly back at him and leans into it, wondering what he would do if he knew.

He's got the car halfway down the drive when the sliding door opens and River steps in off the patio. "Hello Amy," she says quietly, but there is no trace of a smile on her face. Amy notices instantly that there is a ring on her finger, albeit on her right hand. She looks miserable.

"What's wrong?"

River collects herself, attempts to be flippant. "Spoilers," she says with the smallest of smiles.

(This is how it always is; the two of them dance around their past and avoid discussion of the future, laugh quietly and keep secrets. It's neither fair nor right but they deserve it, they both think secretly, even as they profess to abhor spoilers and poorly-kept secrets. It feels like penance in the time after; when they are together they are happy and only sad around the edges, and when they part the sadness can consume. And if River kisses her a little bit too hard when she says goodbye, trying desperately to hide the tears pooling in the corners of her eyes, then that is the price they pay for this thing that they will never absolve from their souls.)

* * *

The Doctor comes back eventually (because that is what he does), and she laughs and cries and hugs him like she thought she'd never see him again until he appeared on her doorstep. She wonders if this changes anything, wonders if maybe this is where everything ends and life begins again.

But he leaves (because that is what he does) and she laughs and cries and hugs Rory because nothing has changed and the guilt is still there only multiplied, because now she remembers that River is his _wife_ and this is all so heinously fucked up.

"Merry Christmas," Rory says and smiles, and she smiles back (she always smiles back, even when her heart is not behind it). She doesn't realise she's crying until he asks her what's wrong.

"Nothing, of course."

"Of course," he says and smiles. His nose crinkles when he does (she's never noticed that before; it would be cute if it didn't happen when River smiled, too) but she doesn't smile back, only nods.

And later that night when Rory has to go work his shift, River smiles at her and the top of her nose crinkles up, and Amy smiles back. River dresses to kill because she might just have to, wrapped tightly in red from head to heels save for a long slit in her skirt that bares the tanned skin of her right leg, with a gun strapped to her inner thigh and her stiletto heels clacking against the hardwood floor.

"The Doctor came back today," Amy confesses as she pulls River's hair out of the tight updo, dropping the hairpins onto the ground behind them as her curls spring free.

"You're not travelling with him again?" River is good with her hands, and her fingers are nimble as she pulls Amy's shirt open. "I thought you were waiting for him to come back."

"I don't know what I was waiting for." The red dress pools at River's feet when unzipped, and she kicks her heels out of it. "But he showed up and offered and I couldn't, Rory couldn't – we have a house and stability, and I couldn't do it. It's all running, and at some point I need to grow up."

The kiss smothers the words that try to emerge, something about 'I need you' and 'I'm so glad you're back'. They fill the spaces between them with lies they know better than to believe and promises they both long to; Amy wraps an arm around River's neck and tries to tell herself that the lithe muscles she feels moving in her back are all the stability she needs.

River kisses her like she means it, holds her close and wraps her arms around her. Up close, her eyes are a bright meadow green and her lipstick smears around her lips. Amy knows that the deep red is painted across her face and neck as well, branding her River's.

* * *

Tonight Amy is painted up like a doll and River to match, lips bright red and eyes lined darkly. "This is, quite frankly, ridiculous," River admits in a hushed tone, biting back a smile. "But, honestly, I wasn't going to miss the Doctor trying to convince the High Senate that he's a dignitary of any sort."

"The Doctor, trying to pass for human," Amy says with a snicker. "That should be interesting."

"Hopefully; provided we don't get in too much trouble."

"Oh, god, is this another one of those beheading planets? I _hate_ those."

They skim delicately around the subject they both want to discuss: they share a room. The lodgings in the High Senate are sequestered by gender and closeness, meaning that Amy and River, two females from the same party, end up in the same quarters. The thought sends a pleasurable shiver up Amy's spine; although her first tour of their room turned up bedrooms as far from each other as was possible within said lodgings, it's still a frighteningly titillating prospect.

They don't mention it as they swap gossip and small-talk over dinner, cringe as the Doctor tries to act human ("Bow ties are the newest Earth fad," he declares to a blue-skinned, eight-eyed alien who sits across the table from them. "They're so... cool, you know?"), and head back to their quarters in silence.

"That wasn't too bad, actually," River says finally. "I was pleasantly surprised."

"Yeah - the Doctor didn't muddle up too badly, did he?" Amy laughs a little to herself, then elbows River jovially. She thinks it might be caused by the copious amounts of the Senatorial equivalent of vodka she drank at dinner, but she's not quite sure. It might be all the time and space and _running_, because after so much time it feels so new and foreign and wonderful. "Not too bad, eh, _roomie_?"

"Oh, how much did you _drink_?" River tries to look scandalised, but Amy fancies she knows her face enough to be able to tell when she's faking it. And oh, she is _faking_ it.

"I dunno," Amy says, although she's pretty sure it was quite a bit. "I mean, you drank more, so I'm going to be all right, right? I mean, I'm _Scottish_."

"I can drink more than you because one of the benefits of the human-time lord genetics is a much higher alcohol tolerance. I should have been more watchful."

"The hell are you talking about? I'm not some kind of kid, River. I'm your _mother_."

"You're my very drunk mother," River replies, fishing through her clothes for the keycard to their room. She finds it, swipes it, and leads Amy inside gingerly.

"Do we share a room?"

"No! Well, yes, but—" River is nearly shouting before she pulls back and collects herself. "No, you're going to bed. You're going to have a wretched hangover come morning."

"I'm not even that drunk," Amy protests, rolling her eyes. "Like, I can walk and talk just fine. I'm fine."

"It doesn't quite work like that, Amy. I should have warned the Doctor that they were serving hypervodka; Rory didn't drink too much, did he?"

"I'm not sure—what's hypervodka?"

"It takes a while to kick in, on humans at least—it was invented by an ingenious group of who-knows-what's—it's one of those things that just showed up one day and never went away. It's heinously expensive, now; whatever they brew it from is probably endangered by now. You might black out in a couple of hours—or, at least, you'll forget most of what you do by morning." Distracted, she nearly stumbles as she swings a door open, leading to a dimly-lit bedroom, lined with dressers and featuring in its centre a four-poster bed.

"I don't have any problems with that," Amy says. She watches River put the keycard on her dresser and kick off her shoes, wrigglingher toes as she sits down on the bed, leaning on one of the posts as she pulls her body up.

"Your bedroom's down the hall Amy, and try to sleep. You'll want to be refreshed, because they're probably going to find out who we are by morning."

"Why are we staying here, then?"

"The Doctor wants to be there to vote down the new defense bill, something about limiting weaponry. Frankly, I don't care, but I'm always up for a party, even if it is with a group of senators."

Amy crosses the room and plunks down onto the other side of the bed, mirroring her as she bends down and pries her heels off. River watches her move, frowning slightly. It's not that she doesn't love her, want her; it's just that this feels like even more of a betrayal than anything else has. Her drunk mother grins up at her as she unzips her dress; in the room's dim light she looks beautiful, ethereal. Her lips are dark and her skin is pale, and, as the dress reveals more and more of it, the porcelain hue faintly reflects the light.

Amy is radiant, and she wonders why she deserves this, what trick of fate gave her the Doctor and then decided she deserved this as well. It's not just because Amy is beautiful, but because she is strong, because she loves with a power that River can feel when they sit together.

Her lips are full and warm when they press against River's, suddenly like lightning, and just as electric.

She thinks she has kissed her one hundred times if she has kissed her once, and it never dulls. Amy lifts her palm and presses a kiss to it, her hair cascading around her face and hiding the motion. A smear of red stays on River's palm as the red lips move back to hers, and this time she kisses back, lets Amy slip her tongue into her mouth and doesn't bother with regrets.

* * *

Time passes so quickly for them.

They always expected that they'd decide one day that enough was enough-sit back and say, _My goodness, this was fun, but I think it's time to move on, don't you?_ and the other would say, _Yes, yes of course; we have responsibilities, husbands, time ahead of us and this behind us._

They never expected to stand in a graveyard staring down an Angel, tears in their eyes and their hearts in their throats.

She calls her Melody one last time, utters the word loudly, thinks: _this is how it ends_.

River takes the offered hand and presses her lips to it, mirroring the gesture they've repeated so many times. It's an act of fealty, even penance; it's a vow.

"You look after him. You be a good girl, and you look after him."

_"You're going to look after him, right? I mean, I don't expect you to be all domestic and stuff, but you'll make sure he takes care of himself. Cuts his hair every now and again, doesn't let the TARDIS get all cobwebby and empty. You're his wife now, you're stuck with him."_

_"I will," River vows quietly._

_Their fingers intertwine and they swap sudden smiles._

_"I'm going to miss him," Amy says finally. "I mean, I've got obligations now. Friends and a family; it'll look weird if I keep popping off for weeks on end and show up a lot older than I left. It's got to stop now, all the travelling. But he's got you, now. That makes it better, somehow. Because it's like I've still got him, because I've got you and that gives me a link. I don't think I'm ready to give it all up just yet."_

She could stay, they all know that. She could travel the galaxy with her Raggedy Doctor and her daughter, forever wondering how her husband is getting on, forever regretting this moment. There's no win here - anything she does is a loss, shrinks her world from macrocosm to microcosm and leaves her missing something.

But this is where married life begins, and she and River both know it. They have responsibilities, and it is time to move on. River releases her hand as she steps forward, and the Angel's cold finger brushes against her collarbones. Mentally, she makes her final goodbyes. Time swallows her whole.


End file.
